Defender

29

“Atten-hut,” someone called, and the officers got to their feet. Even the retired admiral who supervised the station stood.

“As you were,” Kris said. At least at this meeting she didn’t have to fight for her seat. The four captains were down the sides of the table, Sampson as far from her on her right as possible. The station-master took the foot.

Captain Drago, whether because his ship was in the yard or because he was not Navy but contractor, sat against the wall next to the door.

Kris sat.

“That didn’t go as well as I would have liked . . . or as bad as it could have.” She gave Sampson a quick glance. She was sullen and not looking at her.

“You’ll have the rest of today to mend and fix, make your ships ready for four-gee maneuvering, and we’ll do it again day after tomorrow, 0900. I expect we will get away from the pier smartly this time. Captain Drago has his Wasp in the yard, but I’m sure he can spare you some specialists for improving the maneuvering jets on your ships.”

Three captains looked Captain Drago’s way. He gave a resigned sigh and nodded that he’d help them. Again, Sampson stayed in her funk.

“I’m afraid that what you’ve just heard is the good news. I have a lot worse news for you and the fleet.”

Quickly, she filled them in on the food status for the planet below them. Three sets of eyes widened as the full extent of the situation dawned on them. Sampson’s eyes narrowed.

“So you see, we not only need to get ready to fight, but also attend to our logistics. The Marines have landed this morning to help fishermen kill predators that regularly steal their catch. I’m told that they killed two. Sadly, one led to a feeding frenzy and drove off all the fish at that beach. The other kill went smoother. The predator washed ashore and they’ve cut it up. We may be finding some interesting meat in Kiet’s Thai stir-fries. The fishermen on that beach said it was the best catch in memory.”

Kris shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some. Another team of Marines, two platoons of Imperial Marines with Colonel Montoya, are trying to tie in to a group of Alwans who have managed to survive in the deep woods. I understand from their latest report that they’ve killed two huge predators, something between a kangaroo and a saber-toothed tiger, and are planning on barbecuing it for themselves. The aroma might draw in some of the Alwans. So far, they’re hiding. However, they are surviving on small game, roots, nuts, and berries. Once we get the local predators under control, we may be adding some of that to our larder.”

Kris leaned forward. “Mr. Benson is working with his crew to create a lot of necessary gear from Smart Metal. Fishing boats, both harpoon rigged to take on the big ‘eats everythings,’ and trawlers to bring in fish for dinner and to fertilize the colonial fields. We need airplanes to help the scientists quickly finish their planetary resource survey and ships to move things like bird guano, rich in nitrates for ammunition, from where it is to the colonies.”

“He needs Smart Metal?” Kitano said.

“Yes, and the frigates are the only source of it we have. The plan is to pull fifteen to twenty thousand tons from each ship as you give up your Hellburners. That will let us get started as quickly as we can on logistic issues. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the industrial and mining interests just as soon as I talk to your subordinates in the wardroom. As the mines and plants produce steel and other essentials that can take the place of the Smart Metal, it comes back to your ships.”

Kris drew a deep breath. “If our early-warning system reports imminent attack, the Smart Metal comes back to your ships immediately.”

“If you have enough warning,” Sampson tossed in, half hand grenade, half sarcasm.

“We will have enough warning. We have buoys to cover six or more jumps out from here. We will know what the bastards are doing in our space.”

“This is all stupid,” Sampson snapped. “We’re risking our ships to feed ourselves because the people we came here to save can’t feed us, much less defend themselves. We shouldn’t be sending Smart Metal down where we may never get it back. We should be packing up and getting out of here.”

Kris leaned back in her chair and took the measure of her three other captains. Sampson had not impressed them before. She was not impressing them now.

“Thank you for your opinion, Lieutenant Commander Sampson.” Kris knew that was a double slap. She had not recognized her as the captain of a ship. She had not even given her the honor normally afforded a lieutenant commander of being addressed as commander.

Sampson’s face reddened, but she said nothing.

“I knew the situation was bad when I took this command. That it’s worse than even the king realized when he appointed me does not persuade me that it is hopeless. Other ships are coming out to reinforce us. They will need to eat. Logistics, as I have often been told, is what separates the professional warrior from the dilettante and amateur. The time may come when running is our only choice. From where I sit right now, that time is not now. We will stay and we will prepare to fight.”

Now Kris did fix her eyes on Sampson. “Last night, I ordered you to transfer a chief to Mr. Benson. He was, until recently, the skipper of a fishing boat. We need him to command a fishing boat again, harpooning the big ones. You asked for an explanation for me ordering his transfer last night. You have it now.”

“Will I get a replacement for him?” Sampson shot back.

“No,” Kris said bluntly. “Other Sailors will be drafted off the frigates to help with the food issue. There are no replacements. I know this will be a leadership challenge. I expect all of you to meet it.

“Any questions?” Kris said, with finality.

There were none.

“Then all of you except Lieutenant Commander Sampson are dismissed to join your staffs in the wardroom. I’ll be with you as soon as possible. Feel free to discuss our food problem with them. If anyone has any ideas, I’m hungry for them.”

That drew a chuckle as the officers filed out of the room.

Former Admiral Benson eyed Sampson, then glanced at Kris. His eyes held a “good luck” in them, but he said nothing.

SHOULD I SHORTEN THE TABLE, KRIS?

NO, NELLY. I LIKE HER JUST WHERE SHE IS.

The scion of wealth and power faced the scion of a family whose Navy blood went back to when ships sailed the seas, not space. They locked eyes. Kris began yet another battle for her command.